Nightmares
by madwriter223
Summary: dark Wilson is plagued by nightmare. slight House/Wilson. Warning: Gore, Disturbing Imagery, Character Death, Abuse, Blood


* * *

**Nightmares**

_House was sitting in the same chair he sat when he had the DBS. Only he wasn't strapped down to it. He was leaning forward, hard blue eyes fixed on his own, lips pressed into a semi-tight line, face unreadable. The hospital gown he was wearing was too short to cover the scar on his thigh, which was red and bleeding heavily, an open wound._

_Wilson stood before him, wearing surgical scrubs and unable to move under the intense stare._

_Suddenly, House spoke, his words low and sounding dead._

"_I'll do what you want, Wilson." he leaned back, resting his head against the straps, the two protrusions supposed to hold his head still resting against his temples. "I'll do it. I'll take her place."_

_The protrusions transformed suddenly into two knives, and before he could even move, they pushed past the skin and bones, stabbing right through House's head._

_He let out a loud scream, as he watched the indestructible light in House's eyes dim and disappear._

Wilson woke up with a chocked cry, tears straining down his eyes.

* * *

_He was in pain. He was being shaken by spasm tightening his body so much he thought he'd break. White lights of shock flashed before his eyes, making them water and spill over. A whole-consuming fire of agony dancing through his body, setting each nerve aflame before destroying it. And he could feel everything._

_He wanted to throw up. He wanted to curl up and die. He wanted to bawl like an infant and beg his mother to take the pain away._

_He noticed an orange bottle sitting peacefully across from him. House's Vicodin. That would take the pain away, at least diminish it enough for him to think straight again._

_His fingers were almost touching that promise of escape when another hand appeared, snatching it away._

_He looked sharply to the side, locking eyes with House. The older man looked back at him steadily, no sympathy in his gaze, though he had to be seeing how much he was suffering right now. The diagnostician was standing without his cane, though there was a big red stain on his right pants leg, the red slowly flowing down to his ankle._

_But he was too focused on his agony to notice those things._

"_I need them." he managed to ground out, his teeth clenching so tightly they were starting to hurt. But it wasn't enough to overtake the burning in his veins._

"_No you don't." House answered dispassionately, taking a step back, taking those precious pills with him._

"_I'm in pain. I need them."_

"_You're not. And you don't."_

"_I NEED THEM!!"_

_House leaned forward, moving their faces so close they were almost touching. And Wilson couldn't help a shiver as he saw those blue eyes – completely lacking any sign of care or compassion._

"_You don't. You just think you do."_

Wilson woke up, and managed to roll onto his side before he vomited what little he still hadn't digested.

* * *

_He was sitting in his office, talking with Cuddy. He didn't hear his own words nor hers, just one overall blur of sounds leaving both of their mouths. But he knew it was something concerning House, both his department and his personal life._

_He turned his gaze to House, sitting opposite his desk and staring blankly into space._

"_What do you think?" he asked, because really, maybe House had something he wanted to do._

_House turned to look at him, his blue eyes empty, and opened his mouth to reply. But instead, a river of bright red blood spilled past his lips, staining his shirt and falling onto the already bright splotch on his right thigh._

_He froze in horror, staring at it._

"_Why are you asking him?" Cuddy asked, scoffing cruelly. "We don't need his opinion."_

Wilson woke up, jumping into a sitting position and covered his face with his shaking hands.

* * *

_House stood tall and proud, no fear whatsoever on his face. His entire posture screamed 'confidence' and of obvious strength, even despite the red blood trickling down his pants leg. His eyes were dead, devoid of even the tiniest light._

_In front of him stood Vogler, unfeeling and smug as ever. Around him milled the members of the board, all with sharp animal-like fangs, black collars around their necks and wild, crazed eyes._

"_Get him." the millioner ordered softly, and he was forced to watch as House was forced down by the enraged group, and then ripped to bloody shreds._

_Tritter and John House watched it with him, laughing and clapping at the display. Their hands were covered with blood he knew was House's, as was his own._

Wilson woke up, his breath stopping in his throat before it erupted in a broken sob, and he turned onto his side, curling into a tight ball.

* * *

_House was sitting on a chair before him, hands clasped weakly in front. They looked as if they would hang loosely, lifelessly if they weren't leaning over his knees._

_His scar was mangled, torn open by something sharp, the skin shredded and revealing frail flesh. It was burning._

_There were slashed covering his torso and abdomen, painful lines that seemed to form the word 'unfixable'._

_His blue eyes were fixed on his, filled with pain, bright red tears falling steadily from them._

"_It hurts." he whispered simply, an unvoiced plea obvious in his face._

Wilson woke up and spent long hours simply staring at the ceiling, unable to move.

* * *

Wilson sat in front of a grave, staring at the beautifully carved letters. He took a deep breath and managed to force the words he needed to say out of his mouth.

"I was wrong about many things." he said softly, one hand lifting, fingers tracing over the 'a brilliant doctor and a best friend' engraved on the cold stone.

"The worst of all I think was having the audacity to call myself your friend."


End file.
